His hand lifted, slow and deliberate, and for one terrifying second, I thought he was going to touch me.
But he just brushed two fingers against the stray strand of hair near my cheek, tucking it behind my ear.
Barely a touch. But it set my blood on fire.
I should’ve recoiled. After what Yuri did, after waking up like this, but I didn’t.
I hated that I didn’t.
He straightened.
“You’ll be fine by morning,” he said, stepping away like he hadn’t just unraveled me with a single graze.
“Get some sleep.”
He turned toward the door and paused.
Without looking back, he added: “And stay out of trouble, malyshka.”
“Wait,” I said, voice cracking. “You can’t just—”
But the door clicked shut.
He was already gone.
Leaving me standing there, trembling from a touch that hadn’t even bruised my skin.
Later that night, I laid still, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt him.
Not Yuri, not my father.
Misha.
The way he looked at me—like he already knew how this ended.
The way his fingers barely brushed my skin, but still set me on fire.
I rose from the bed and padded barefoot to the window. The estate stretched out below me in cold silver light. Guards patrolled the fences.
The gardens whispered with secrets I didn’t want to hear.
Somewhere down there, Gabriela was curled up in her bed, bruised and broken, waiting for a rescue that might never come.
Whereas, Misha Petrov was hunting something that had already sunk its claws into both of us.
Morning came too fast. I woke up tangled in unfamiliar sheets, the scent of Misha’s world clinging to my skin. A reminder that even in sleep, I wasn’t safe.
I cleaned up quickly, pulled on the least wrinkled dress I could find, and slipped out of the guest wing before anyone could catch me.
One guard stood at the end of the corridor. He didn’t stop me, but his eyes followed like a warning.
If Papa found out where I’d spent the night...
If Yuri...
I shoved the thought aside. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Except trust the wrong people. Again.
The hallways were already humming with activity. Staff moving briskly, preparing for something.
